Black Bone, White Bone
by HCBorn
Summary: After the TARDIS strands them in thirteenth century Asia, the Doctor and Ace find themselves embroiled in the struggle for power between a young Mongol named Temujin and his former blood brother Jamuqa. As usual, the Doctor can't resist a bit of meddling.


"Check and mate!" An almost indecently ecstatic glow filled the face of the Ong Khan as he slid the clay figure into its final position. His opponent grimaced good-naturedly and rose to his feet, but as he did so, he nearly collided with a servant in a hurry. "Why can't you watch where you're going?" the khan's son demanded.

"I just wanted to offer you some refreshment, my lords," the man, who was called Altan— when he was not being mistaken for just another servant— said with a respectful dip of the head. He kept his eyes deliberately averted from the nearby chess board. "Your mother and wife sends these with her best wishes."

"How nice," said Senggum with no hint of conviction in his tone. When the man remained, he prompted, "Well? What else?"

"I have a message for your father, sir," the man responded, with just enough humility to prevent a beating. "It's urgent."

"Then I'd better stick around." Senggum stood next to the board as his father accepted the proffered piece of paper. "What does it say?" The khan's expression had fallen so quickly, it had to be bad news.

"It's Temujin." A matching grimace joined Senggum's features. No wonder his father had looked so dismayed. The young Mongol had been nothing but trouble of late, admittedly through no fault of his own; it was simply the political realities that governed life on the steppes. Enmities should not be allowed to fester for long, but the conflagration between the two _andas_ had overstayed its welcome by about a decade and the aging khan was ready to be done with the whole thing.

"What does he want then?" The son finally returned to his seat, passing a meaningful glance across the array of chess pieces at the khan. Toghrul refused to take the bait.

"He requests a match between his son and your sister." Never had the Ong Khan looked quite so tired, hollow, aged.

"What, the bastard son Jochi?" Senggum started, lips twitching in anger. "Tell him in no uncertain terms that we will not accept such a marriage, blood brother or not."

"Now come, son, let's not be too hasty... family is family. You of all people should know that." Ong Khan glared daggers at Senggum. "I know what's behind this, and trust me, you have nothing to fear from me. You'll be well taken care of."

"Somehow, that's what I'm worried about," Senggum muttered, quiet enough that only he could hear.

* * *

When he heard the rustle of his felt door being pushed aside, Temujin knew who it must be. Only his brother Khasar would dare intrude on his _ger_ at this hour. Hastily rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, he sat up and offered the best smile he could muster. No matter how hard he tried, he was never going to be the kind of person who liked mornings. "Good day, brother. Is there news from our relative?"

Khasar's face was guarded as he nodded assent. "He refuses."

"And the manner of his refusal?" Temujin asked, though he knew the answer from his brother's expression.

"He says that your son is not of good lineage."

Anger flared on the young Mongol's face, a deep-rooted anger that was not only directed towards his ostensible relative. Life had thrown him an importune set of sheep's bones, ever since his birth; of course his bride had been captured, naturally she had been returned to him defiled, and that only after great effort. To him it was worth the trouble— _she_ was worth the trouble— but it meant that his eldest son, and therefore his presumptive heir, would always have that cloud of uncertainty circling his lineage like a flock of vultures. And here, on the steppes, provenance was everything. Ability could only get you so far. Temujin had already learned that the hard way.

Shaking his head to clear it of such brooding thoughts, he met his brother's gaze and asked, "What exactly did he say?"

"It doesn't matter." Qasar looked away.

"It must matter a great deal for you to act like this," he insisted. "Just tell me: should we attack?"

"I think," his brother said carefully, "the khan will regret his decision. You know how he is so easily swayed. This is probably Senggum's doing."

"That still doesn't leave our honor intact, brother." Temujin rose from the hard-packed earth floor and went to look outside. "But you're right. We will give the second messenger time to arrive. I have no desire to wage war on my father's _anda_." The sky outside was iron grey, shrouded in clouds. Not a good omen, thought the young warrior; the eternal blue sky was hiding itself from their sight. All the more reason to wait for the khan's inevitable vacillation.

* * *

Silence haunted the corridors of the Kereyid khan's palace, like the spirits of a lost friendship. The soft tread of Jamuqa's booted feet broached it only slightly, not enough to dispel his melancholy. It was too late to turn back, to choose a different course. He knew it, and yet the memories continued to plague him, of the time before that woman had driven a wedge between them. She had done it deliberately, subtly twisting them apart like a pair of entwined threads until they would never be reconciled. Yes, he was bitter and why shouldn't he be? His best friend, stolen by a woman, an Olkhunut wench of no consequence. She did not even have the excuse of higher lineage.

It was in this black mood that Senggum found him, as he was pacing the halls, with their high arching doorways and curlicues lurking in odd corners as was the style further west. He heard the footsteps of the khan's son before he came into sight. Jamuqa, who had been prepared to take out his frustration on a servant or some member of the khan's retinue, instead greeted him with a dark smile. "You seem in worse humor than even I. What is it?"

Senggum matched his swift pace, albeit with difficulty. "Oh, it's just my father," he answered evasively. The mere mention of his former friend, he knew, would send Jamuqa further into the swamp of despair and impotent fury that was already plaguing him, and regardless of how angry he was at the Ong Khan, he was more concerned with his friend's well-being. Said friend, however, was not born yesterday.

"It's that black-boned upstart, isn't it?" he demanded through tightly gritted teeth.

Senggum glanced away without reply, which was reply enough for Jamuqa. His brows gathered, his gaze darkened. "What exactly has he done?"

"He wants his son to marry one of my sisters."

The expression on the young Mongol's features startled Senggum in its raw intensity of feeling, a rare sight in general, rarer still when the person in question was Jamuqa. He seldom revealed himself like this, a fact the Kereyid knew all too well. Usually it just chagrinned him, that stoic refusal to emote, but here, when the facade was destroyed, he wished the masquerade could have continued. Just seeing the vulnerability cloaked in dark fury made him want to weep. He'd thought he could count on Jamuqa, like one of the mountains to the north, battered by winds and weather but little affected by them. He wanted to depend on him, to lean on him, and as volatile as he could sometimes be, Senggum had thought he could.

His friend seemed to sense his dismay, because he laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, and the harsh lines of mouth and brows softened with true affection. "Don't worry," he said, his guttural voice echoing strangely from the decorative arabesques lining the ceiling, "We'll stop him together, you and I. It's what we're good at."

* * *

It wasn't every day she told him where to go. The event was so rare, in fact, that he tended to just go with it. After all, the symbiotic nature of their relationship meant she would never intentionally place them into harm. Still, he was intensely curious as to why she had chosen this particular point in space-time.

"What's the matter, Professor? The old girl acting up on you again?"

He glanced sideways at his companion. There was only so much you could do with training; apparently the impudence was ingrained. The barest of smiles made an ephemeral appearance before he snapped, "Don't be ridiculous. I know precisely where we are."

"But not why," she said quietly, comprehension dawning. "Oh, ace! So you're in the dark just as much as I am!"

"Yes, yes, yes," he said distractedly, already halfway out the doors, umbrella dangling from one arm. "Are you coming?"

She followed him outside only to be faced with the bleakest landscape she'd ever seen— and by now that was saying something.

"Where are we, Professor? The moon?"

"No, it's not the moon! We couldn't breathe if it were. This—" he made a wide gesture encompassing the sprawling hills, their sides covered sparsely by grasses and the occasional shrub, "is Central Asia, circa twelve-oh-three, though not by the locals' reckoning. They're not too concerned with time beyond knowing it passes. More important things on their mind. Like survival, for instance."

He peered into the distance, suddenly aware of a conspicuous cloud of dust. It was a horse and rider, but in this environment like as not he wasn't alone. "I don't like this," he muttered.

"Why not, aren't they friendly? Or did you lose a dice game?"

"This is no laughing matter! I don't know if you've heard the name Genghis Khan, but there's a reason the Mongol tribes were so successful in battle! Come on, back to—"

But even he had underestimated the prowess of a central Asian on a horse. They were already ringed in, their return route blocked by an imposing array of horses' muzzles, accompanied by the superfluous deterrent of bows and arrows to one side, fine Damascus steel to the other. The faces staring down at them were impassive and not very encouraging, but there was always some small flicker of hope. He raised his hat, which caused no small consternation in itself, and said, "Hello, I'm the Doctor and this is my friend Ace," but before he could get any further, the leader impelled his horse forward and interrupted:

"You are foreign? English?"

Atop Ace's assent he said, "Well, no, but we did just come from there. I don't suppose you could tell us where the nearest inn is?"

"All foreigners must be taken to the Ong Khan." He didn't seem to be addressing the travelers, just his ring of men. "Come." The monosyllable didn't leave much room for interpretation, so after meaningful glances were exchanged, they obeyed.


End file.
